No Cure To This Love
by Ubernatural
Summary: Johnlock fic. My very first. John's therapist points out how much happier he is ever since he met Sherlock, but it can't be love. Can it?


**First ever Johnlock fic, so still a bit experimental. I love this pairing so much, I can't even tell you, so there's definitely more Johnlock to come after this.** **This one's probably going to be about 3 chapters long, but who knows where it may take me.  
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**If you would leave a review, that would be very kind of you. :D**

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"I think you're ready to quit the therapy", Ella Thompson says.

John looks at his therapist sitting on the chair opposite of him. Finally she says the words that have been on his mind for a long time now. Week after week, he's been sitting here, wondering what the hell he was doing.

"What?"

"You heard me. I think my work is done".

"Why?" he asks, more out of politeness then because he really wants to know.

"Because you don't need it anymore".

"And you think so why?"

She puts away her notebook, leans forward and clasps her hands together. "Mr. Watson – John. You have been making huge progression in these last few months. When you first walked in here, I have to admit, I didn't think there was much hope for you anymore". She smiles.

"Well, thanks a lot", John mutters.

"What I mean to say is", she continues, "when I started treating you, you seemed lost. Traumatized, depressed. But these last few months…" she glares at him wonderingly. "Something is different about you. You're a changed man. I don't know what it is, but I have never seen you happier".

John is speechless for a moment. He knows she's right. Before Sherlock, he hadn't been so much a man as a shadow. But then he met Sherlock, and his world had been put upside down – in the best possible way. He finds himself smiling when he thinks about his friend. This bizarre man that had busted into his life and had changed all norms and standards John had ever lived by. From the moment he first opened his mouth, he had been sucked into his strange charisma. _Afghanistan or Iraq?_He wonders sometimes what would have become of him if he hadn't ran into Mike that day. If he hadn't stepped into that lab. He'd probably be depressed as hell. In a lot of ways, Sherlock had saved him. Sometimes he thinks of him as his own personal messiah, sent down by God to help him. He doesn't ever plan on telling Sherlock that, though. It would only give him a huge ego trip. Bigger than usual, that is.

"John?" He snaps out of his musings and focusses on Ella again.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I was saying I have never seen you happier", Ella repeats.

"Well I suppose I am happy", he smiles.

"So, who's the lucky one?"

John frowns. "What?"

"Who is the woman that makes you so happy?"

"Woman?" He asks stupidly. That word has to settle in his mind for a minute before he can answer. She assumes there's a woman? Sarah doesn't even cross his mind.

"Oh. There's no woman in my life at the moment", he smiles. _Not one in particular, anyway._

"Oh", she says. "A man, then?"

"What? No!" he snaps. Realizing he might be overreacting a little, he continues in a calmer tone: "No. I'm not gay. Why do you think there is someone?"

Now it's her turn to smile. "Well I would say only a love interest could cause a change like this".

This confuses him. Sure, there's plenty women in his life he likes and likes to sleep with, but there's not one among them he considers a love interest particularly. He does suppose he is in a very happy mood, but that's simply because he feels so good. How could he not feel good? After this, he's going home, to 221b Bakerstreet, the tiny flat he sees more like a home than any other place he's ever lived. Mostly because of his flat-mate. Sherlock would probably be bored again. Sometimes, when Sherlock was in one of his impossible moods again, meaning he was bored and droning around in the house like a child, he had to entertain him for a while. He sat down next to a curled up Sherlock on the couch and he'd tell him stories about his time in Afghanistan. Sherlock was always silent when he spoke, but John could tell he was listening with great fascination, and this flattered and pleased him more than he could say. It was very unusual for Sherlock to listen to what anyone had to say, let alone listen to stories, since he had the attention span of a mosquito when it came to ordinary things and a general lack of interest in people. People were boring in his eyes and he could never bring himself to listen to them for a second longer then was necessary. He didn't need to listen to people, he got all the information he needed by observing. But to John, he listened. And this was a greater gift to John then Sherlock would understand.

"There's no one", he says quickly.

"Hm. And what was that flat-mate of yours called again?"

"Sherlock," he says, then he sees her face and falls silent. "No… you don't think…" he laughs. "No, me and Sherlock, we're just friends. We're not a couple."

Maybe he shouted out that last part a little firmer than he had intended to. He had just gotten so tired of having to explain to everyone that they were _not_together, yet everybody seemed to assume they were by just one look at them. What was up with that? Was he radiating invisible gay vibes or something?

She gives him a look, squeezing her eyes. Then she grabs her notebook and her pen from the side table again, scrabbling something down. "If you say so", she hums, not sounding very convinced. John has a hard time suppressing his annoyance.

"Tell me about him", she says as she focusses his attention on him again, staring at him from above the notebook.

"About Sherlock?"

"Yes".

John has to think for a good few seconds to find words to describe his best friend. How would you describe Sherlock to someone who had never met him? To Sally Donovan, he was Sherlock, the freak. To Lestrade, he was Sherlock, the genius detective, the to-go-to-man for unsolvable crimes. Sherlock himself had described himself as a high-functioning sociopath. But to John, he was Sherlock, his best friend.

"He's brilliant", he says, thinking that was a word that applied to him in every way. "He's extraordinary. I mean, have you heard of him? He's not like anyone you'll ever meet. God knows he can be an idiot sometimes, and a tremendous dick, but that's just him. You learn to live with it".

"You love him", she states flat-out.

"Yes".

"It seems that this change in your mental state has started since you moved in with Sherlock", she establishes.

"Yes", he says slowly, not sure where this is going.

Ella gives him a little smile. "You literally start beaming when you talk about him, do you know that? If I didn't know better…" she doesn't finish her sentence, just reading through her notes.

"What? If you didn't know better, what?" His was starting to get annoyed.

She folds her legs. "I don't want to imply anything, but it seems your relationship with Sherlock is very special. It has a very positive effect on you. I think he might mean more to you then you're ready to admit at the moment".

His mouth falls open a little and for a moment he just stares at her in disbelief. He bites his lip in order not to shout out.

"I'm not gay", he says.

"I didn't say you were", she answers.

He looks away out of the window for a while. He's not sure what to do with this information.

"John", she says, sounding genuine. "I'm only telling you what I see. When you came in here, you were this… broken man. And then you met Sherlock, and you've blossomed. You're happy, you're smiling again".

He doesn't know what to say to that. She's right about everything. It's true that Sherlock has made him feel more alive than he's had in ages. But it almost sounds like she's implying he's in love with him, and he simply isn't gay. He's been into women for his whole life. There has never been a doubt in his mind that he was straight. He has never felt any kind of interest towards men. So he can't… be in love with a man all of a sudden. Can he? It just doesn't make sense. All those years, and never once he has even so much as thought about men. They simply didn't appeal to him. But then, Sherlock was like no man he had ever met before. He wasn't a normal person, and maybe he shouldn't think of him as such. Hell, it was hard to believe the man was even human sometimes. His relationship with him wasn't comparable to anything he had ever experienced before. Everything was different with Sherlock.

"Just think about it", Ella says after receiving more silence from John's side. "That's all. Off you go now. I don't want to see you here again unless something serious is up".

He promises her he'll do that, and they shake hands and say their goodbyes. When he stands outside on the busy street, he takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe in and out the polluted London air.

He holds a cab, and stares out of the window, at the little stores in this part of town.

He can't wait to get home. Maybe he'll have a case they can look into. The thought of going on a case with Sherlock cheers him up immediately. He gets interrupted by a text. _Sherlock_, is his first thought. But it's from Sarah.

_Got any plans tonight?_ _S._

Sarah hadn't crossed his mind for a while, but the timing is good. He could use something to distract his mind, sleep with her.

_Nope. Pick you up at eight? John. _He texts back.

_Sounds good. I'll see you then. S_

The taxi drives into Bakerstreet, and stops at 221b.

"I'm back", he announces uselessly when he walks into the flat.

He finds Sherlock lying on the couch, bare feet peeking over the edge, hands folded on his chest. He's staring to the ceiling as if he's discovered some interesting pattern in it. John knows this probably means he's in his mind palace, thinking out something genius only Sherlock can follow. For all he knows, he could be solving the seven greatest unsolved math problems right now.

"You went out, then?" Sherlock answers, not even so much as shifting his head.

John sighs. As familiar as he is with Sherlock's absentmindedness, sometimes he wishes he would show a bit more interest in his life and what he was doing. But normal stuff just doesn't matter in Sherlock's world. He _deletes_ it from his _hard drive_.

"Yes, Sherlock, I've been gone for one and a half hour, just like every Wednesday. I've got therapy on Wednesdays, remember?"

"Oh. Right", Sherlock mutters. John knows he doesn't care, but at least Sherlock has found the decency not to say 'boring' every time he talks about something that's trivial in Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock's only wearing his silk bathrobe, revealing his bare chest. It's very smooth, John notices, no breast hair or anything. Would he shave? He knows Sherlock can be idle.

"Are you wearing pants?" he asks.

"No. Why, does it bother you?" Sherlock looks at him as if the answer to that question is somehow of great importance to him.

Yes, it does, actually. But he doesn't say that. Majorly, although he doesn't know why.

"No, it's… fine", he just says, turning and suddenly having a dry mouth.

Drink, he needs a drink. Quickly he makes his way to the kitchen. When he opens the fridge and reaches for the orange juice, there is a brain next to it. _A brain._

"Ugh". He retches and turns away.

"Sherlock, do you really need to keep your body parts in the fridge?"

It doesn't even shock him that much anymore. He takes out the orange juice and pours himself a glass.

"Yes, you keep asking that, but what other location do you suggest? I need to keep it conserved. At least it doesn't take up as much space as the whole head".

"Where have you left that anyway? The head."

"I took out the brains, I was done with the rest. The brains are the most important part of the body anyway".

"Yeah but, what did you do with the rest?"

"Threw it out with the trash", Sherlock answers casually.

"The trash? You put it in _the trash_?" Sometimes he can't believe him. He takes the glass and walks into the living room, meeting with Sherlock's ice blue eyes that are staring directly at him.

"Yes, where else?" He sounds slightly annoyed.

"What if someone finds it and thinks you're some kind of serial killer?"

"Not my problem", Sherlock says simply.

John huffs out a laugh. He can never stay pissed at him for too long. No matter what your opinion on Sherlock is, he loves the way he is so uniquely himself.

"Scoot over", he says, and Sherlock sits up straight to make room for him. He plumps down next to him on the couch.

"I'm quit the therapy", he tells him. "She told me I didn't need it anymore".

"Ah, she finally realized you're a hopeless case", says Sherlock.

"Very funny, Sherlock".

But he sees a small smile playing around Sherlock's lips. It's very rare that Sherlock smiles. In fact, he only does it with John. But John likes it whenever he does. He catches himself smiling too.

"So, any interesting cases turned up?" he asks finally.

"Nothing worth my time", Sherlock sighs. "All crimes are so boringly ordinary these days, where is the _fun_?"

"Well I wouldn't call almost being blown up by Moriarty boring…" John starts.

Sherlock gives him a look, then his phone rings. "Sherlock Holmes", he says in a toneless voice. Lestrade's voice rattling in the background. "Of course. We'll be there". He hangs up, tosses away the phone and jumps up the table. "Finally", he sighs in relief.

He waits as Sherlock gets dressed. Then the door opens and he stares directly in his icy blue eyes. John's mouth feels dry again.

"Coming?" asks Sherlock, as he walks past him.

John strolls after him. Of course he's coming.


End file.
